


A Cold Night In New York

by MangoKat



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangoKat/pseuds/MangoKat
Summary: Part of the Team Red Family SeriesReading the Team Red Family Series is strongly recommended before reading this, otherwise you will be very confused.It is New Year's Eve and Dash has an emergency that brings him back to New York City. He has nothing but terrible memories of New York, and finds that his past is not so easy to run from. Whether he wants to or not, he has to finally deal with the ghosts of his past.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	A Cold Night In New York

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Happy New Year's!
> 
> Here is part 2 of Dash's story from Intrepid Tales. 
> 
> If you're enjoying the story so far, please let me know your thoughts. I'm open to all suggestions and criticisms as it helps me improve the story.
> 
> Happy Reading!

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**A Cold Night in New York**

**Chapter 1**

**Neal/Dash**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**December 30th 2019**

**San Diego**

**.**

“Can you switch the channel to rugby?” Neal asked, staring at the screen in disgust.

Dash, who had control of the remote, ignored him, watching the fashion show in interest. “Look at that collar!” he tsked. “What a sloppy design. I’d never let my models go out on the runway looking like that!”

“You have models?” Neal demanded, his interest instantly piqued.

Dash gave him a shrug. “ **Someone** has to show off my designs,” he replied. “I do quite well with my side-business actually.”

“So V.I.L.E lets you have a fashion business?” Neal asked with interest. “I’m surprised they didn’t make you give up the rights to it.”

Dash glanced over at him. “It’s not like V.I.L.E has ever really paid much attention to what I do,” he commented. “I doubt they even know about it.”

Neal grinned at him. “Sneakily running your own business right under V.I.L.E’s noses? I love it. I’m assuming you’re hiding a little nest egg away in case you ever leave our line of work?”

Dash didn’t answer, instead turning his gaze back to the tv. Neal glanced at the screen and then immediately lost interest again, and instead looked over at Crackle who was reading a book.

“I’m bored,” he complained.

Crackle didn’t look up from his book. “You’re the one who declined going out with the others,” he pointed out. 

“I don’t consider going to Walmart interesting,” Neal replied. “Besides, I’m still banned from there after the peanut butter incident.”

“Ugh, what is **with** that skirt?! It looks like something Roosevelt would sew,” Dash commented in a haughty tone. “Do these designers have no pride in their work? Honestly. The model might as well be wearing a trashbag.”

“Runway Trash: The Garbage Edition. I’d watch that,” Neal said, glancing over. 

Dash snorted. “You would.”

Dash suddenly sat straight up in his seat, his whole body going stiff as he stared wide-eyed at the screen.

“What is **that**?!” Dash said in horror.

“What?” Neal asked, staring at the model on screen.

“That’s my design!” Dash cried out in absolute fury.

Neal squinted at the model, noting the flowing green dress and nodded. “Nice.” he commented.

Dash flashed him a look of death. “No, it is **not** nice!” he snarled. “Someone changed my design! Who would **dare** do something like this?!”

Neal stared at the words on the screen. “Dashiell? Is that your brand name?”

“Yes.” Dash ground out, clenching his fists. “I submitted my designs, and someone **changed** it! How **dare** they embarrass me like this! I’ll kill them! I will track them down and use their skin to make a hat!”

“Whoa, tone it down, Buffalo Bill. It’s just a dress,” Neal responded in amusement.

Dash turned his fury on Neal. “No, it is **not** ‘just a dress!’ It’s my reputation as a designer, and it jeopardizes everything I’ve worked for. I can’t believe someone did this to me!”

Neal stared at the dress but couldn’t see anything wrong with it. “What did they change?” he asked.

“Are you blind, Neal? Look at those hideous ruffles on the sleeves! As if I would **ever** have such poor taste!”

Neal still couldn’t see a problem with the outfit and gave a shrug. 

Dash gave a sigh of irritation. “Like **you** would ever recognize real fashion.”

Dash’s com suddenly started ringing and he picked it up in confusion, staring at the screen with a frown. Answering it, the face of The Rhino appeared on his screen.

“Er...how can I help you?” Dash asked, never once speaking with Rhino before.

“My gran wants you to call her.” Rhino stated, looking resigned.

Dash was even more confused. “...your gran?” he repeated.

“Yeah, she said she knows you, and wants you to call her immediately.”

“How would I **possibly** know your grandmother?” Dash demanded. “I’ve never even spoken to **you** before!”

“Her name is Evelyn Blanchard.” The Rhino informed him. “She says she’s your best customer.”

Dash blinked, and then the name clicked for him. “Mrs. Blanchard?! The old woman that used to buy dresses from me eight years ago?!”

“I dunno,” The Rhino answered. “She’s **real** upset though and says you will call her ‘immediately’.”

“How does your grandmother know I work for V.I.L.E?!” Dash asked in alarm. “In fact, how does she even know about V.I.L.E at all?!”

The Rhino stared at him like he was an idiot. “My gran worked for V.I.L.E for over 50 years before she retired. Her code name is Patty Larceny.”

Dash’s eyes widened. Patty Larceny was one of the old-school V.I.L.E operatives whose reputation was infamous. She was Countess Cleo’s predecessor, responsible for making V.I.L.E the empire it was today. She was definitely **not** someone to be trifled with.

“Patty Larceny? I have Patty Larceny as one of my clients?!”

“Look, you gonna call her or not?” Rhino demanded.

Dash couldn’t believe that the customer he had constantly complained about when he worked at his Haberdashery shop was one of the former heads of V.I.L.E. He had been nothing but rude and snotty towards her since day one, but it had never seemed to bother her. She’d been his most demanding customer, and he’d dreaded it every time he had to call her. He hadn’t thought about that grouchy old hag in years.

“Er...yes, I’ll call her.” Dash answered, feeling a little bit overwhelmed.

“You know her number?”

Dash had called her so many times in the past that her phone number was practically laser-etched into his mind.

“I know it,” he confirmed.

“Good,” Rhino said with a nod. “Don’t upset my gran, or I’ll snap your skinny little neck, understood?”

Dash rolled his eyes at the threat. “Whatever you say,” he answered.

Rhino disconnected the call without another word, and Dash looked up, seeing both Neal and Crackle watching over his shoulder.

“Uh, excuse **me** ,” he snapped at them. “Could you two possibly be any more nosy?!”

“You know Patty Larceny?!” Neal asked in delight. “I’ve heard a lot about that woman. I heard she’s a real battleaxe.”

“She’s a wretched nuisance of a woman.” Dash responded with a scowl. “She once made me go through every single shade of red with her in person and explain the differences. There are FORTY shades of red available for fabric. She never knew what she wanted, and changed her mind constantly. Ugh. Even thinking about it is making me have PTSD flashbacks.” 

“You have to call her.” Crackle informed him. “A former head of V.I.L.E demands the same respect as the current heads.”

“I know.” Dash responded, grumpily. “What could she possibly want after all these years?”

Letting out a deep sigh, he dialed her number and then waited as it rang.

“I have been waiting five minutes for your call, Dash Haber.” a very familiar voice said. “This is not acceptable.”

“I’m rather busy right now.” Dash responded, with a scowl. “I called you as soon as I could.”

Mrs. Blanchard let out a sniff of disapproval. ”Is this why you’ve been allowing your business to suffer? Because you’re ‘busy’?”

“Excuse me?” Dash responded in outrage.

“I chose you as my personal designer when you were just a boy, and I’ve trusted you all these years to always make the best decisions when it comes to fashion. You have obviously begun to neglect your true talents in favour of playing at being an operative.”

Dash flushed. “I take great pride in my designs and have **never** neglected my business!”

“Oh?” she challenged. “Then care to explain why I just saw a horrendous dress with your name on it on the runway?”

Dash glared over at the tv. “I don’t know how that happened,” he admitted. “Someone altered my design without my consent.”

“It’s not just the runway that has been suffering. Your store has been absolutely abysmal for a long time. I won’t even go there anymore.”

This alarmed Dash, his store meaning a lot to him. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “What happened at my store?!”

“When’s the last time you visited your store in person, Dash Haber? I think you’d better see for yourself what has happened.”

Dash had noticed that sales had been down for a while in his store, but he’d just assumed it was because of the economy, not because of an actual problem at his store. Alarmed, he hoped nothing serious had happened. He had selected the store manager carefully after reviewing hundreds of resumes, and although never meeting him in person, he felt like he’d chosen the best man for the job.

Henri had over 20 years experience in the fashion industry and had actually worked for Vogue when Dash had poached him. He’d been running the store for Dash for the last eight years, and it had seemed like everything was going fine. What could Mrs.Blanchard possibly mean? Dash was now getting worried, and he frowned down at his com.

“Dash, are you still there?” Mrs. Blanchard demanded.

“Yes, I’m still here,” he responded, his mind distracted.

“Unless you want your brand to be run through the mud, I suggest you get yourself to New York.” she said. “I expect you to make a house call when you arrive to apologize in person for the disgraceful state things have come to. I expect you no later than two days time.”

The call then disconnected, and Dash frowned as he lowered the com from his ear.

“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Neal said sympathetically.

Dash shoved him away irritably. “Stop eavesdropping!” he snapped. “It’s none of your business.”

“It looks like you’re going to New York.” Crackle stated thoughtfully.

Dash stared at him, simply gaping in surprise. “I can’t just abandon the mission and go to New York!”

“A former head of V.I.L.E has made an order, and you **will** obey,” Crackle responded with a shrug. “I will inform Dr. Bellum that you have been personally requested by Patty Larceny, and permission will be granted.”

“We only just got back from that Christmas fiasco in Nunavut,” Dash pointed out. “Shouldn’t I be helping to get us back in V.I.L.E’s good graces?”

“No, you will be following orders like you should be,” Crackle answered. “I don’t like the idea of you going by yourself, and so I’ll send Paper Star along with you.”

“Ohhhh, can I go?” Neal begged, turning pleading eyes to Crackle. “I’ve never been to New York!”

“No, Paper Star is the best person to have with him in case there’s a fight,” Crackle responded with a shrug.

“But both Dash and Paper Star are long-range fighters. You should send someone who’s good at close range instead,” Neal stated, flexing one of his arms dramatically.

Crackle wasn’t moved and simply shook his head. “Sorry, Neal.”

Neal let out a deep sigh, and flopped back on his bed without another word. “Is it my turn for the tv yet?” he demanded. “The match is probably half over by now.”

“No, it’s my turn next,” Crackle responded. “There’s a new episode of The Electrician Magician that I recorded.”

“Ugh, Graham, that show is so boring.” Neal complained. “It’s literally an hour of some old fat guy talking about wires.”

“It’s both useful and fascinating,” Crackle defended.

“No, it’s not,” Dash and Neal answered at the same time.

“Well, guess what?” Crackle said.

“What?” Neal asked.

Crackle reached over and plucked the tv remote out of Dash’s hand, earning him an angry glare.

“Leadership privileges,” Crackle informed them, switching the station to what he wanted.

Dash let out a huff but didn’t argue. He had a lot on his mind, and honestly needed a bit of time to think things through. It had been eight years since he’s last stepped foot in New York City, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t have a lot of good memories associated with that place, his store being the only good thing he’d left behind. He could just pop into the city, visit his store and then leave again without ever having to think of anything else. As far as he was concerned, his store was the **only** thing in New York City worth returning for.

An hour later, the others returned from the store, and the twins were snickering over something between them. Ever nosy, Neal approached them to find out what was so funny and wasn’t disappointed. Theodore told them about how some man had ‘accidentally’ brushed his hand across Paper Star’s bottom when they were at the check-out and she had responded by snapping his fingers and punching him in the throat. Store security then escorted the man out when Paper Star stated it was a self-defense reflex. The store manager had then apologized to Paper Star for her bad experience in the store and he gave her a $100 gift card as compensation.

Neal laughed long and hard and threw an arm around Paper Star with a grin. “Good for you!” he praised. “No one touches our girl without her permission!”

Paper Star gave a pointed look to Neal’s arm on her shoulders and then elbowed him hard in the gut. Neal gasped out in pain, and clutched at his stomach as he staggered back away from her.

“Okay…” he wheezed out. “I had that coming.”

“Serves you right.” Dash commented in a snotty tone. 

Crackle let out a sigh, but ignored them as he turned his attention to the bags they’d brought back. “Did you get everything?” he asked.

Roosevelt nodded. “Yeah, we got everything on the list.”

Crackle was relieved. “Where is the prescription?” he asked.

“Right here.” Theodore said, handing over a white paper bag.

Crackle pulled out a small box and then handed it to Dash.

“A new Epipen.” he told him. “Make sure to keep that on you at all times. I’m going to keep a spare on me just in case it’s ever needed.”

Dash gave him a nod, and placed the package into his coat pocket. He very rarely ever came into contact with strawberries, but he wasn’t going to take a chance. He’d almost died at Christmas time, and if it wasn’t for the epinephrine, he probably wouldn’t have been able to be revived.

“Paper Star, you’re going to accompany Dash to New York tomorrow.” Crackle said, taking a seat on the bed next to Dash.

Paper Star frowned. “No.”

Crackle raised a brow. “No?” he questioned.

“I leave for Tokyo tomorrow.” she replied.

Crackle’s eyes widened. “Oh! I forgot about that! I thought that mission was **next** week!”

Paper Star shook her head. “No, Coach Brunt moved the mission forward due to complications with the Yakuza. I leave at six tomorrow morning.”

Crackle knew his memory wasn’t very reliable and felt stupid forgetting about something so important. “Did neither of you remember about this?” he demanded, glaring at Neal and Dash,

“I honestly try to ignore all of you as much as possible.” Dash replied.

“I think I was watching rugby when you guys were talking about that.” Neal said with a shrug. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Crackle let out a sigh, and turned to the twins. “Which one of you is going with Paper Star?”

“I am.” Roosevelt quickly answered, stepping in front of his brother.

“Alright, Teddy and I will complete the Los Angeles heist and Neal will go with Dash to New York.”

“ **Yes**!” Neal said, pumping a fist triumphantly.

Dash heaved a sigh. “I have a feeling that no matter what I say, I’m stuck with the greaseball.”

“Probably.” Crackle agreed.

“Oh, I picked you up some twizzlers, Neal.” Theodore said, tossing a bag towards him.

Neal caught the bag and shot him a grin. “Really? Sweet as, Teddy! Thanks.”

“I’m going to arrange travel for everyone, and I expect everyone to maintain regular contact with me while away.” Crackle instructed, reaching for his com. “I don’t like the idea of us being separated like this, but we have to follow orders.”

Theodore glanced over at his brother, really nervous about being separated, but he didn’t comment. He was terrified something was going to happen to Roosevelt, and honestly wasn’t certain he’d be able to handle the loss of another brother. Roosevelt caught his eye and offered him a reassuring smile, but it did little to ease Theodore’s worry. He knew he had to trust that everything would be fine, and he did his best to put all bad thoughts out of his mind.

“Alright everyone, let’s do our afternoon patrol and then we can relax for the rest of the day.” Crackle said, still staring at the screen of his com. “I’m just confirming the flights and then we can get going.”

The room heaved a collective sigh, but knew there was no point in arguing. Twice a day they were made to patrol the city, and Crackle was diligent in never missing a day.

Ten minutes later, they were doing their rounds through San Diego.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**December 31st 2019**

**New York City**

**.**

Dash stepped out of the plane and immediately felt a sense of dread course through him. He hated this city, and would have happily **never** returned if he had a choice. Neal shoved past him excitedly, and he shot a glare at the other man who didn’t even notice.

“Oh, it’s really cold.” Neal commented.

“It’s New York, idiot.” Dash responded.

Stepping down off the airstairs, Neal immediately slipped on a patch of ice, his feet flying out from under him and he landed awkwardly on the pavement. Dash started laughing, the expression on Neal’s face enough to lighten his mood, and Neal glared up at him.

“I hate winter.” he complained, carefully getting back to his feet.

Dash couldn’t stop laughing and Neal shook his head, seeing the humour in it. He grinned up at Dash, and slowly walked across the ice towards the car waiting for them.

“Watch your step, fancy.”

Dash crossed the ice without issue and got into the car with Neal, their driver leaving as soon as his passengers were settled. They were taken to their hotel in Manhattan which took a considerably long time because of traffic, and as soon as Dash stepped out of the car, the sense was dread was back full force.

“What’s the matter?” Neal asked, noticing his change in demeanor.

“Nothing.” Dash snapped, heading for the door of the hotel. 

Dash had booked the reservation himself and so they actually had an incredibly nice room for their stay. He would have rather booked two rooms, but Crackle wouldn’t allow him, wanting Neal and Dash to keep each other safe. Crackle was incredibly paranoid when it came to his teammates and made sure there were always two together at all times.

When they walked into the lobby of the hotel, Dash’s expensive clothes and handsome face immediately caught the attention of the staff who rushed to greet him.

“Good day to you, Sir!” a portly man in uniform greeted him. “I will be happy to get you checked in if you’ll please follow me.”

“Oh, wow, look at this place!” Neal exclaimed coming in after Dash. “There’s a fancy chandelier bigger than a car! Oh, look, free coffee!”

The concierge stared at Neal like he was something that crawled out a drain, and took a step back from him in revulsion.

“Sir, that coffee is for our guests only.” he snapped. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Neal glanced over at him, not stopping what he was doing for an instant. “I **am** a guest.” he responded.

The concierge looked him up and down with obvious disdain. “Sir, this hotel’s rooms start at $800 a night. I think you’re looking for the homeless shelter down the street.”

Neal took a bite of one of the complimentary doughnuts and simply stared at him. Dash had raised a hand to his face in exasperation, knowing Neal certainly didn’t fit in at the hotel. Neal was wearing ripped jeans, a dirty hoodie and a thick winter hat that had seen better days.

“I’m a guest.” Neal repeated, around his mouthful of doughnut.

“I’m going to call security if you don’t get out here right **now**.” the concierge warned, and then turned to Dash. “Sir, I’m terribly sorry about this. We’ll have him removed from the premises immediately.”

Dash let out a long-suffering sigh and was about to speak up on Neal’s behalf when Neal approached and threw an arm around his shoulders, accidentally slopping a bit of coffee down the front of Dash’s coat.

Dash let out another sigh and reached into his pocket to grab a handkerchief to dab at the stain. The concierge however was horrified.

“Oops, sorry about that, fancy. Good thing your coat’s black, right?”

The concierge grabbed a hold of Neal and wrenched him away from Dash, causing Neal to drop his coffee on the floor. Neal grimaced in pain, the sharp yank almost popping his shoulder out of joint, and to his surprise it was Dash who spoke up first.

“Get your hands off of him **immediately** !” Dash bellowed out furiously. “What do you think you’re doing? How **dare** you lay a hand on one of your guests like that!”

“Sir, he’s not a guest.” The Concierge said in a placating tone. “We sometimes have homeless people come in for the coffee.”

“He most certainly **is** a guest!” Dash snapped, his eyes narrowed to slits. “We’re here together!”

The concierge released Neal, his eyes growing wide. “You’re **together**?!” he asked, his eyes once again raking Neal up and down.

“If this is how your hotel treats its guests then perhaps I need to start staying with your competitors!” Dash snarled. This is unacceptable, and I demand to see your manager!”

The man’s eyes were wide and he was quickly paling. “I’m so sorry to you both!” he apologized, realizing this could mean his job. “Please forgive me, I didn’t realize!” 

“Manager, **now**.” Dash ordered.

“Please, Sirs, maybe there’s a way I can make this up to you? I **can’t** lose this job, my wife just had a baby! We’ll lose our home! I’m very, **very** sorry! Please don’t speak to my manager!”

“I don’t care if your wife gave birth to the second coming of Christ, GET. ME. YOUR. MANAGER.” Dash snarled.

Neal set a hand on Dash’s shoulder. “Settle down, Karen, mistakes happen. I’m fine, you’re fine, everybody’s fine, so let’s move on, yes? There’s no reason to make this an issue.”

Dash looked like he’d sucked a lemon, but relented and gave Neal a nod. “ **Fine** , but I’m just telling you, I’m **not** happy.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “When are you **ever** happy?”

Neal then turned a smile to the concierge. “Sorry about the coffee on the floor.”

“No, **I’m** very sorry, Sir. You have my deepest apologies for the mixup. We’ll get this cleaned up right away. Please step right over here and I’ll get you checked in.”

As they stepped up to the front desk, Neal leaned against it, still munching on the free doughnut. “So, did your wife have a boy or a girl?” he asked out of curiosity.

The concierge smiled. “A boy. He’s my first child and is almost a month old now. Now, what name is the reservation under?”

“Dashiell Armani.” 

Neal rolled his eyes at the name, but didn’t comment. “What did you name the baby?” he asked.

“Justin.”

Dash’s whole body stiffened, and he felt like a wave of panic had crashed over him, his hands dropping his wallet to the floor. 

Neal immediately knelt down to pick it up. When he held it out towards Dash, he hesitated, seeing how pale the other man had suddenly gone.

“Dash? Are you okay?” he asked.

Gripping the counter tightly, Dash took a deep breath and then turned murderous eyes on the concierge. 

“How about enough small talk and you just do your job and check us in?” he snarled, his tone absolutely venomous. “I am **through** speaking with you.”

The concierge was completely taken aback. “Er, yes, Sir.” he said, turning to type on the computer.

Neal still held the wallet and was staring at Dash, having no idea what brought on the sudden fury. He didn’t comment, but continued to carefully watch Dash as the other man took another deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When Dash opened his eyes again, it was like a mask of indifference had settled on his face, no signs of the previous panic or rage. He reached out, plucked the wallet out of Neal’s hands, and then removed his credit card.

“Just the one night, Sir?” the concierge questioned.

“That’s what the reservation says.” Dash retorted rudely.

“We’re just here in the city for one night.” Neal added.

“Very nice. I’ve given you a complimentary upgrade to our finest suite as an apology for my atrocious mistake.”

Dash narrowed his eyes at him.

“And...and free room service is of course included!”

Dash rolled his eyes. “It’ll do...I suppose.”

The concierge handed Dash the card terminal to run his Visa through, and then handed over two keycards.

“Your suite is on the top floor, room 1901. I hope you enjoy your stay. Do you need help with your bags?”

“I think not.” Dash snapped, turning and storming away from the counter with all the drama of a teenage girl.

Neal rolled his eyes and then hurried to catch up to him. Once they were alone on the elevator, Neal gave him a questioning look.

“Someone’s a little bitchy today.” he observed.

“Shut up, Neal.” Dash muttered, glaring at the doors to the elevator.

“You’d have more friends if you were a little nicer to people.”

Dash snorted. “Why would I ever want to be friends with people? People are garbage.”

“You’re friends with **me**.” Neal pointed out.

“Yes, and you’re garbage.”

Neal let out a sigh, knowing Dash was just in a bad mood and not taking it personally. “Where are we going first?”

“I want to see my store first.” Dash informed him. “I need to find out what’s been causing the drastic drop in sales.”

“You gonna go in and yell at them like you did that front desk guy?”

“Probably.” Dash admitted, crossing his arms.

“You said your employees have never seen you, right?”

Dash nodded. “Yes, so?”

“Then why don’t you do a whole undercover boss thing, and pretend to be a customer? Wouldn’t that work better to discover how they’re screwing up?”

Dash stared at Neal in surprise, realizing that was an extremely good idea. He knew exactly how customers thought, and he’d be able to imitate one easily. He couldn’t believe the idea had come from Neal of all people. “Maybe...I’ll think about it.” he said, looking away.

“Free room service…” Neal said to himself in awe. “V.I.L.E always limits our food allowance. I’m going to order soooo much food. What do you suppose is the most expensive item on the menu? I’m going to order it.”

Dash rolled his eyes, knowing Neal would definitely do that, and was resigned to the fact the room would likely end up smelling like cheese and alcohol by the time Neal was done.

When they finally reached the 19th floor, they stepped off the elevator and headed for their suite, realizing it was located in the far corner away from everyone else.

Neal swiped his keycard and the door beeped and then slid open by itself. “Nice.” he commented. “Very Star Trek.”

“You’re so embarrassing, Neal.” Dash sighed. “You have the class of a baboon. Maybe if you didn’t dress like a drug addict, you wouldn’t have been hassled in the lobby.”

“You’re just jealous that I dress comfortably while you dress like you’re going to a bell-hop convention.”

“I do **not** dress like a bell-hop!” Dash snarled, instantly offended.

“Wow, this is a really nice room!” Neal exclaimed, ignoring the glare directed at him. “It’s huuuuge! Oh, look at that window!”

Neal crossed the room and placed his hands on the wall-sized window, peering out across the city in appreciation. He could see for miles and simply stood there staring while Dash scouted out the suite and claimed the best bedroom.

“How much do you think a room like this goes for?” Neal asked in wonder.

Dash shrugged without looking up. “Maybe twelve grand a night? The room’s okay...I suppose.”

Neal wrinkled his nose at him. “‘Okay’?! Geez, where did you grow up that a twelve grand hotel room is just ‘okay’? I had to beg and plead just to get pocket change out of Adam when I was a kid. He’s the stingiest Kiwi who ever existed. Sign me up to be adopted by your family **any** day.”

Dash once again stiffened, and he slammed his bag onto the bed with enough force that it rolled off the other side. Neal simply raised a brow at him.

“You’re a lot grouchier than usual today.” he observed. “You need a nap or something, love?”

Dash turned a fierce glare on him, and without a word tossed a pillow at him, but Neal was unfazed.

“Well, while you finish your tantrum, I’m going to christen the bathroom.” he commented, heading for the bathroom.

Dash scowled, and then raised a hand to his face, wishing he could just return to San Diego. He’d been certain he could handle this, but now he wasn’t so certain. They’d been here less than an hour and already he felt like he was on the verge of a meltdown of epic proportions. Neal had made him think of his childhood, and that was definitely something he **didn’t** want to remember. He knew none of this was Neal’s fault, but the other man had a talent for annoying him, and Dash’s patience was at an all-time low. 

Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to push all thoughts of his parents out of his mind. He needed to focus on what was important, and concentrate on fixing his business before it failed. Dash would be damned before he let all his hard work be for nothing.

“Hey, the toilet is self-flushing!” Neal exclaimed in delight from the other room. “How did it know I was done?!”

Dash let out another sigh. This was going to be a long day…

“The sink is touchless too! Hey, even the shower is touchless! How does that even work?! If there’s no buttons, how does it know to-oh, shite!”

A few moments later, Neal came back in the room, soaking wet and looking a bit sheepish. “Erm, I figured out the shower.”

“Congratulations.” Dash responded, pulling his com out of his pocket. “I’m going to text Crackle so he knows we’re not dead yet, and then we can get going.”

Neal nodded as he crossed the room to where his duffle bag was. Pulling off his soaked hoodie, he pulled a new one out of his bag and slipped it on. 

“Do you have a winter hat? Mine’s wet now.”

Dash wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You probably have lice, you’re not borrowing one of my hats.”

“I **don’t** have lice.” Neal responded, actually offended for once.

“Well, even if you don’t, you’re still greasy, and any hat you borrow I’d never be able to wear again.”

Neal glared at him. “You know what, Dash? I don’t know what your problem is, but your whole attitude today is completely scodey. Stop taking things out on me.” 

“Your English is what’s ‘scodey’.” Dash replied, glancing back down at his com.

Neal knew something was bothering Dash because the other man hadn’t been this rude and mean to him in months. They certainly still bickered frequently, but it wasn’t anything major, and they were never really mad at each other. Was Dash **that** upset over his store? Did it mean that much to him? Neal gave him a thoughtful glance, and then figured that must be it. Once Dash saved his store, he felt certain he’d be back to his old self again in no time.

“Okay, are you ready?” Dash asked, standing up

“Sure.” Neal responded, tossing his soggy hat towards the nearby desk. “Let’s go undercover!”

As they walked towards the door, Dash slapped something against Neal’s chest and he instinctively caught it, and then looked down at the winter hat in surprise. Neal shot Dash a grin but the other man was pointedly looking the other way as he headed for the door.

As they rode down the elevator, Neal pulled on the hat, and then fumbled around in his hoodie pocket for a moment.

“Hey, there’s half a chocolate bar in here.” he commented, pulling out an O’Henry bar.

“Neal...if there’s an in-tact chocolate bar in that pocket, that means you didn’t wash that hoodie.” Dash pointed out.

“You don’t wash hoodies.” Neal responded, taking a bite of the candy.

Dash simply sputtered, not knowing what to say to that. He then saw the way Neal was smirking at him and realized the other man was messing with him. Letting out a sigh of aggravation, he shook his head and made no further comment.

“You know your way around this city, fancy?” Neal asked. “How far is it to your store?”

“Not far.” Dash responded. “It would be faster to take the subway than to hail a taxi.”

Neal nodded, and continued munching on the chocolate bar as they waited to reach the lobby. Only seconds later, the elevator dinged and a snobby-looking lady wearing furs stepped on. She gave Neal the side-eye, her expression like she'd just smelled something foul, and she turned to Dash.

"Who let **this** on the guest elevator?"

Dash simply shrugged.

"Have you called security yet?" she demanded, staring at Neal like he was something she'd scraped off her shoe. “He’s probably breaking into rooms.”

Neal smiled at her brightly, his teeth covered in chocolate.

“Hi.” he greeted, purposely belching loudly. "Beautiful day, eh?"

“Ugh.” she commented, turning away. “Do you know this man?!”

"I have no idea who that weirdo is." Dash replied. “Never saw him before in my life.”

The woman then looked Neal up and down a second time. “Do you work here?! You work here, **don't** you? They let **anyone** work here nowadays. Disgusting. This hotel will be getting a VERY strongly worded letter from my secretary.”

"Whatever you say, love."

Dash looked absolutely livid, but he said nothing, remaining completely silent the rest of the ride down to the lobby. As soon as the doors opened, the woman shoved past them and stormed up to the front desk, yelling at the concierge before she even halfway across the lobby.

“You are disgusting, Neal.” Dash hissed lowly. “Why can’t you act like a human being for even five minutes?”

Neal rolled his eyes and followed Dash to the front door glancing over at the snobby woman as she pointed at him.

“HIM!” she screeched.

“Ma’am, that’s a guest. There’s nothing I can do about how he looks.”

Neal snorted in laughter and left the hotel, feeling unusually pleased with himself. Dash shot him another glare, and kept walking without waiting for him to catch up. Neal jogged until they were walking side by side, and Dash said nothing, too annoyed to even bother speaking with him. He led them to the nearest subway entrance, and pulled on a pair of gloves as they began descending the stairs.

“I’m surprised you’ll take the subway.” Neal commented. “Would’ve thought you’d consider it too ‘low class’.”

“It’s the most efficient way to get around.” Dash responded, digging in his pocket for change.

As they approached the ticket booth, Dash inserted a few coins and took his ticket as the turnstile opened for him. Neal quickly realized he didn’t have enough change on him, and dug in his pockets, trying to find coins.

“Wait a sec.” He called after Dash.

Dash glanced back at him and then rolled his eyes. Neal was holding up the line and the people behind him were quickly getting angry.

“Er...lend me some change, fancy?”

“Guess you’ll have to remain at the hotel.” Dash responded, turning away. “Oh, how will I **ever** get along without you?”

“Dash!” Neal protested.

Dash ignored him and kept walking and Neal glanced at the crowd behind him, quickly getting annoyed.

“ **DASH**!”

Dash didn’t even glance back at him, and Neal was shoved hard from behind.

“Get out of the way!” a man ordered angrily. “I’m going to miss my train!”

Neal glared at the man, and then gave another look at the angry crowd. He then hopped over the turnstile, ignoring the shout that came from the nearby security guard. Taking off at a run, Neal dodged in and around the crowd, but Dash was nowhere in sight.

“Stop right there!” security bellowed, close on his heels.

Neal sped up and expertly slipped in and around people, quickly putting distance between him and the overweight guard. He scanned the crowds as he ran along, looking for the familiar blue hat of Dash, but there was no sign of him anywhere. Had Dash already gotten onto a train? Running along the platform, he was suddenly met with the sight of three more security guards.

“Oh come **on**.” Neal snapped. “It was only three bucks! Get a life, rent-a-cops.” 

The three security guards had clearly heard him and their expressions quickly turned ugly. Neal dodged around them and wished he had his slick suit. As he turned direction, he didn’t see the fourth guard until the man caught him by the wrist. Neal instinctively jerked his arm out of the grip and fell backwards, prepared to roll away to safety. There was no ground behind him however, and Neal flailed as he realized he was falling onto the tracks.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Dash was honestly glad to go to his store alone, knowing Neal would have been extremely embarrassing in such a high-end establishment. Neal wouldn’t have enjoyed it anyway and knew the other man would probably prefer to stay in the hotel room watching sports on the eighty inch television. Dash could use some alone time right now, and knew he needed to mentally prepare himself before he entered his old neighbourhood.

His train arrived just as he reached the platform and he stepped on and stood facing the windows, not wanting to step anywhere near the foul subway seats. Wiping a bar in front of him with a disinfectant wipe, he held the bar and stared out the windows, hoping no one too dirty decided to stand next to him. He then saw Neal running along the platform outside, and Dash let out a sigh of irritation. He watched as Neal was chased by a security guard, and Dash had no intention whatsoever of helping him.

Three more guards joined the fray and Dash simply watched the show as his teammate ran and dodged around the guards easily. Dash rolled his eyes. Neal was such an idiot sometimes. He watched as a guard finally got lucky and seized Neal, and the other man jerked away, breaking the hold. Dash stared in horror as Neal fell backwards off the platform and onto the tracks. Neal laid there a moment, obviously stunned from the fall, and Dash glanced up the tracks knowing the other train would be there any second. 

Using his fist, he banged on the window.

“NEAL!” he yelled out. “NEAL, THE TRAIN!”

There was suddenly a loud train horn and lights coming from down the subway tunnel and Neal slowly raised a hand to his head, glancing around in confusion.

Dash banged on the window again, and Neal glanced up at him.

“GET OFF THE TRACKS!”

Neal’s mind finally caught up to him and he glanced up just as the train began approaching from the opposite way. Having no time to get off the tracks, Neal frog-hopped over the third rail and then flattened himself down as low as he could get just as the second train went over him. Dash stared in absolute horror as his own train began pulling away, having no idea if Neal was alive or not.

The train then stopped as someone pulled the emergency stop brake, and Dash stared out the window, unable to see any sign of the other man.

Pulling his com out of his pocket, he dialed Neal’s number and then waited, barely daring to breath.

“Nope, not flattened.” Neal said, answering his com.

“YOU **IDIOT**!” Dash screamed into the com. “YOU ALMOST MADE ME WATCH YOU GET CRUSHED BY A TRAIN!”

“Sorry, Fancy.” Neal responded. “This isn’t where I intended to end up…”

Dash let out an angry huff, forcing himself to calm down. “Are you still underneath the trains?” he demanded.

“Yep.”

“Can you get out?”

“Yeah, if I crawl I should be able to squeeze out between the two trains.” Neal responded. “Well, as long as they don’t plan on starting the trains again…”

“Someone hit the emergency brake and so the trains aren’t going anywhere.” Dash informed him. “You’ll be safe...Moron.”

“Okay, I’m crawling out now.” Neal informed him, and Dash could near the sound of shuffling over the com.

“Why didn’t you just go back to the hotel like any **normal** person would have?” Dash demanded.

Neal snorted. “Like I’m going to leave you by yourself...okay almost out now.”

“You’re such an idiot.” Dash said with a sigh. “Honestly, Neal.”

“Okay I’m out!” Neal said triumphantly. “...aaaand now I’m being arrested. Gotta go.”

The com went dead, and Dash raised a hand to his head, feeling a migraine coming on. The train remained there for another ten minutes and then it finally began moving again. Hoping he wouldn’t have to break Neal out of jail, he held onto his com, waiting for a call. He got off at his stop, and after fifteen minutes he got a text from Neal.

“ **Okay, they’re not arresting me since I’m a tourist. I just had to pay a $100 fine for jumping the turnstile. I’ll try tracking you by your com, and I’ll meet you at your store.** ”

Dash sighed and put his com away, hoping Neal wouldn’t be able to figure out where his store was. Walking up the stairs back to the street, Dash recognized the buildings around him, once again getting an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Ignoring it, he walked along the busy sidewalk, having a feeling things were not going to go well in his store. Although the air was bitter, Dash didn’t mind it, the cold helping to keep his mind off other things.

After twenty minutes of walking, he came to the street his store was on and he found himself looking for the golden pillars that he’d always loved so much as a child. Disconcerted when he didn’t spot them, he continued walking and saw that the pillars had been painted white, all traces of the gold gone. Dash frowned, but since he’d never said the gold was not to be touched, he knew he couldn't really blame the manager for that. Stores had to be maintained, and white was a pretty classy colour, but he still hated it. The shiny gold colour of the storefront had been what attracted him to the haberdashery in the first place, and he felt like it somehow made the store special.

Dash glanced up at the sign above the door and luckily that remained the same, and he smiled at it, missing the sight of it. Dash then turned his gaze to the storefront window memories of the shooting flashing through his mind. He could clearly remember the shattered window, the blood that covered the floor of the shop and Leopold’s face frozen in terror even in death. Leopold hadn’t been afraid for his own life, he’d been afraid for Dash’s. He had died protecting him from the rain of bullets, and Dash felt his stomach twist in agony.

Dash felt like he was going to be sick, and he rested a hand against the glass as he struggled to get his emotions in check. He couldn’t think about this right now. He had to deal with the store, and then he could leave and never return. 

Sucking in a deep breath, he turned his attention to the window display and recoiled at the sight before him. There in the front window was one of the outfits he had designed, but it had been modified. Instead of the delicate sleeves that flowed to the elbows, there were large puffs of hideous fabric that didn’t match the aesthetic at all.

Enraged that such an abomination was in the front window, Dash was tempted to storm into the store and immediately go on a rampage. Scowling at the dress, he forced himself to calm down so he could check out the store without giving himself away. Once he was certain his expression was the perfect cross between indifference and disdain, he entered the store, his eyes taking in everything around him.

He hated the way the store was arranged, and as he studied the outfits on display he saw all of them had been modified.

“Good day to you, Sir.” a young Indian woman greeted, approaching him with a smile. “Is there anything I can help you find today?”

Dash stared at the woman and had no idea who she was. He hadn’t hired her and assumed the manager must have hired additional staff without his knowledge. He looked her up and down, noting her dark hair in a neat braid, enormous glasses, and short height thoughtfully. Why hadn't he been informed about this hire?

“I don’t recognize you.” Dash stated. “Are you new?”

“Well, not **too** new, sir. I’ve worked here for two years now. My name is Emily and I work on the sales floor.”

Dash gave her a nod, looking her up and down critically. She obviously put in a bit of effort in her appearance despite it being obvious she didn’t have much money. This girl was probably treated like absolute garbage by the richer clients, and Dash sniffed in disdain to imitate them. 

“Who do you work for?” Dash demanded.

Emily smiled at him. “I work for the great designer Dashiell. He designed most of the outfits in this store. He actually inspired me to begin working on my own designs!”

Dash raised an eyebrow. Interesting… “Have you ever met this Dashiell in person?” he asked.

“Oh, yes of course.” she told him. “He works here at this store.”

Dash couldn’t stop the look of shock that crossed his face. “What?”

“Yes, I know! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Dash stared at her, having no idea what was going on. “Is..is he here right now?” he asked.

“Oh, no!” Emily said with a laugh. “He rarely comes in anymore, he leaves me to run the shop most of the time.”

“By yourself?” Dash questioned.

Emily nodded.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is your experience?”

Emily must have been used to clients questioning her about this, because it didn’t even phase her. “I’ve never attended college but I’ve had a passion for fashion as long as I could remember. Ever since I was a little girl, I would find myself being attracted to this shop because of its beautiful gold exterior. I would stand there after school with my sketchpad and try to draw as many of the outfits as I could before it got dark. It’s been my dream to work here, and I’m very fortunate Dashiell hired me.”

Dash stared at her, having no idea what to say. “What happened to this store, why is it so different?”

Emily hesitated. “Er...Dashiell recently began taking his designs in a...different direction…”

Dash pointed to an atrocious suit nearby. “You don’t like the designs.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s not what I meant at all, it’s just...not to my **personal** tastes.”

Dash nodded, able to read between the lines. She knew the designs were hideous, but didn’t want to badmouth her boss and chance losing her job.

“When are you expecting ‘Dashiell’ to return to the store?”

“He’ll be in before close to collect the money for the bank deposit.” she replied.

Dash was absolutely furious, but he kept his expression neutral as he continued glancing around. Gone were the delicate displays of jewelery, and the colours were not separated, and everywhere he looked was a mishmash of ugly clothing.

“Do you arrange the store?” Dash asked.

Emily shook her head. “No, sir. Dashiel himself instructs me on what he wants done in the store. I just follow orders. I handle everything in the store except for design and finances.”

Dash took a deep breath, already knowing he was firing Henri on the spot as soon as he walked in the door. He wasn’t quite sure about Emily however, and that all depended on how she treated him.

“Well, do you consider yourself an expert at fashion, Emily?” he demanded with obvious condescension. 

“No, sir.” she replied. “But I work hard to know our stock, and I’m certain I can help you find what you’re looking for.”

Dash raised an eyebrow. “We shall see.” he stated with a sneer. He was going to be the most rude and difficult customer she had ever had, and then he’d see how she held up under the stress.

“I’m looking for a new outfit.” he stated vaguely.

“Of course, sir. Casual or formal?”

“Why don’t you try **listening** , girl, I clearly said I was looking for a casual outfit to wear when among my peers. Honestly, why were you even hired?”

Emily nodded. “My apologies, sir. Please step this way and I’ll show you our catalogues.”

Now **this** intrigued Dash. “You’re not going to show me the clothes you have in-store?”

Emily hesitated. “Well, sir, based on the outfit you’re currently wearing which looks to be custom, I assumed you’d want more freedom of choice. Our catalogues offer the very best of current fashions and can be customized in almost any way. I can certainly show you our wares in store however, if that’s what you prefer.”

Dash narrowed his eyes. “Alright, Emily, dazzle me with your fashion sense. Show me the catalogues.”

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Dash would never admit it, but he was having fun. He and Emily sat at the counter for over two hours discussing their favourite fashions, and without even meaning to, Dash found himself relaxing and not being quite as rude with her. It reminded him of all the times he used to sit at that very counter with Leopold doing the same thing, and although painful to remember, it was a good memory. Dash had filled a dozen sketchbooks sitting at this very counter, and he still remembered how he had been encouraged and gently corrected as he began his very first designs. Even after eight years, the loss was devastating and Dash thought of Leopold’s ever patient smile, and his calm tone as he explained things to him. Leopold had been the only person in his childhood that actually cared for him, and this store now felt like a graveyard to him. 

Dash clenched his hands into fists, and Emily sensed the change in his demeanor and paused in her enthusiastic design comparisons.

“Sir, are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” Dash snapped, his tone icy.

The bell dinged signifying someone just came in, and they both glanced over to see Neal standing in the middle of the shop glancing around in interest. Dash heaved a sigh, and turned away. Emily eyed Dash for a moment, and then turned the catalogue towards him.

“How about if I give you a few minutes to look at the designs we discussed and I’ll see if I can help this other gentleman.”

“Whatever.” Dash muttered, pulling the catalogue a bit closer.

As Emily walked over to Neal, Dash watched out of the corner of his eye, surprised she didn’t immediately toss Neal to the curb. In Dash’s opinion, Neal looked like a homeless heroin addict, but Emily approached him with the same welcoming smile she’d given him.

“Good evening, sir!” she greeted. “Is there anything I can help you find today?”

“Naw, love, just browsing.” Neal answered her, picking up a $800 belt buckle to look at it.

Emily stared at the buckle he held, but she didn’t comment and her smile didn’t drop. “Of course!” she told him. “Just let me know if you have any questions.”

She sat down with Dash again, and he noticed she didn’t take her eyes off of Neal for an instant. “How do you feel about a dark navy vest? That colour would look beautiful on you.”

“I normally prefer black.” Dash replied, no longer feeling like being in the store any longer.

He stiffened when he suddenly felt Neal lean over his shoulder to look at the vest in question. “I dunno, fancy, I think a little colour might look good on you.”

Neal laid both hands on his shoulders as he leaned over him, and Dash was instantly annoyed. His expression must have clearly shown what he was thinking, because Emily was instantly at Neal’s side, gently taking him by the arm and leading him away from Dash.

“I like your eye for colour.” she complimented Neal. “You wouldn’t look bad in navy yourself, but I think you’re more of a purple man if I say so myself.”

Neal raised a brow. “Oh?” he questioned in amusement. “Can’t really see myself wearing violet, love.”

“Oh no,” Emily said aghast. “That shade would be much too dark for you! Your skin is so pale that you need more muted tones. Come and I’ll show you what I mean.”

She led Neal far away from Dash who simply watched in interest, impressed by the way she made sure not to offend either of them.

“Take a look at these two colours.” Emily said pulling out two shirts. “Mauve or lilac would look perfect on you.”

She turned Neal towards the mirror and held them against his chest.

“See how they bring out your grey eyes?”

Neal stared at the shirts thoughtfully, neither of the colours anything he’d ever considered before. Neal normally went for the brightest colours available, never anything so muted.

“Not really my style.” Neal said with a laugh, indicating his sloppy and dirty outfit.

“Everyone needs an outfit for a special occasion.” Emily responded. “Now if we pair this with a nice grey or silver tie, and some black slacks your eyes will really stand out!”

She held two ties against the shirts as well as pants, and Neal cocked his head curiously.

“These should all fit you perfectly.” she told him. “I’m very good at judging sizes.”

“I normally wear a Hawaiian shirt when I’m trying to be fancy.” Neal told her. “Only for the **really** important things like weddings and funerals though.”

“Yes, I can see how that would be for...special occasions.” Emily agreed. “But what if you ever get invited to an event **so** special that you want to impress those around you? What if you want to ask the love of your life for the first dance? Or what if you meet royalty?”

“Well, the Hawaiian shirt is...oh.” Neal stated, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “Huh.”

For the first time in his life, Neal could see a resemblance between himself and his father. He had never met his father, but he’d seen him in dozens of photographs as he grew up. His father had been a lawyer and he’d worn dress shirts with ties in pretty much every photograph.

Neal stared in silence for a moment, a little weirded out, but also fascinated. He could only imagine his brother Adam’s reaction if he showed up to the upcoming wedding dressed like this. It would be interesting, that’s for sure.

“Hmm.” Neal said thoughtfully. “You know what, love? I’m going to buy this outfit.”

He selected the lilac shirt with the silver tie, and Emily gave him a smile and a nod. Dash gave Neal a look of pure skepticism as he approached the counter, staring at the items Neal held.

“Are you really going to buy those?” he asked.

“Sure am.” Neal responded. “I have a wedding coming up. My brother’s getting married.”

Emily began ringing up the purchase, and then she paused. “And you want the items in your pockets as well?” she asked.

Dash narrowed his eyes as Neal laughed and pulled out a fancy belt buckle and a designer wallet from his pocket and laid them on the counter.

“And the cufflinks?” Emily prompted, her smile never once fading.

Neal gave her a sheepish look and added the cufflinks to the pile on the counter. “Er...yeah, add these to the total, love.”

“Were you **shoplifting** ?!” Dash demanded in outrage. “From **my** ...er, **this** store?!”

“Well, I don’t want to **now**.” Neal responded with a shrug. “I was just messing around.”

Dash looked like he had a lot to say about this, but Emily turned her smile to Dash.

“No harm done since all merchandise is being paid for. Sometimes customers get distracted and forget they’re still holding merchandise. It’s up to me as the sales agent to remember **for** them.”

Neal shot Dash a cheeky look, as he pulled out his credit card.

“$7829.41.” Emily informed him, smile never wavering.

Neal let out a low whistle, but he had a considerable amount of money saved up from working for V.I.L.E for so long, and so the steep price tag didn’t even make him flinch. He swiped his card, and then signed the receipt that was handed to him a few moments later. Emily carefully bagged up his purchases, and then handed it to him.

“Thank you, sir, I hope to see you again.”

“I’m sure you will.” Neal stated, giving Dash a wink.

Dash glared at him, but said nothing, not wanting to give himself away this soon. He was honestly impressed with Emily’s ability to spot Neal shoplifting considering Neal was **incredibly** talented at it. She never accused Neal of taking anything, and even managed to talk him into buying nice clothes and the items he was going to steal. Dash scratched at his chin thoughtfully. Emily clearly grew up in a poor area and was able to recognize a shoplifter when she saw one. It was a useful talent to have in this area of the city.

The bell dinged signifying someone entering, and they looked over to see an overweight middle-aged man waddle into the store, dressed in the most expensive suit available for order.

“Good evening, Mr. Dashiell.” Emily greeted him pleasantly.

Neal stared between Dash and the man in surprise, and then he laughed. “Oh **snap**.” he commented, knowing things were about to get interesting.

“Who let **you** in my store?!” the man yelled upon seeing Neal. “Are you robbing me?!”

“Well, I wasn’t **planning** to.” Neal responded.

“What did you steal?! Show me what you stole!” the man yelled, surging forward angrily.

“I paid for this stuff.” Neal responded, not intimidated in the least.

“Sir, he paid for those things.” Emily assured him. “He’s one of our valuable customers.”

Her tone made it obvious she was trying to convey to the man to knock it off, but he clearly didn’t pick up on it.

“Did you search his pockets?”

“No, sir, he is a **customer.** ”

“I suggest you get out of this store before I call the police.” the man threatened, giving Neal a shove towards the door. “I don’t know who you stole the money from to buy that, but I’m **not** being held responsible.”

Neal raised a brow and then glanced over at Dash in question. Dash nodded towards the door, and Neal turned to leave without a word, understanding completely. Once Neal was gone, the man turned his attention to Dash, but the moment he took in the expensive clothes, his demeanor completely changed.

“Sorry you had to see that, my good sir. The street trash are always trying to sneak in. That happens when a magnificent store such as this is so close to a trashy neighbourhood. I have plans on relocating to a much better neighbourhood shortly.”

“ **What.** ” Dash responded, his tone like ice.

“This dumpy old building isn’t fit for the quality merchandise I create. I’ve already arranged the sale of this building and the paperwork is to be signed in the New Year.”

“That **you** create?” Dash repeated.

The man laughed. “Don’t you know who I am?” the man asked with a laugh. “I’m the famous designer Dashiell and most of these creations in this store are my own work.”

Dash narrowed his eyes until they were slits, and then slowly stood to his feet. He approached a nearby dress and pulled out the sleeve, displaying the uneven ruffles. “ **You’re** responsible for this?” he demanded.

“Oh, yes, those ruffles add feminine charm to the dress, don’t you think?”

Dash pursed his lips. “And **you** are responsible for the clothing in the fashion shows?”

“I am indeed.” he said proudly. “So you **do** know my work.”

“I do.” Dash confirmed, taking a deep breath.

The man glanced at the open catalogues on the desk and then smiled brightly, realizing this had a potential of being an enormous sale.

“Now that the **real** expert is here, let me show you the best clothing we have for you. This cashier has a nice face but there’s not much between the ears if you get what I mean.” 

Emily flushed and looked down at the floor, but said nothing.

“Oh?” Dash questioned. “She seemed pretty knowledgeable to me.”

The man rolled his eyes. “She’s not even worth the minimum wage I pay her to be honest. She’s always whining about the store and complaining about the displays. I’ll probably start looking for someone better soon.”

Emily flinched at his words, but she still remained silent. 

“...wait a second.” Dash said. “You pay your floor agent minimum wage? In a multi-million dollar business?!”

“Of course.”

Dash turned to Emily. “What is minimum wage?”

“Er, $13.50 an hour.” she said in embarrassment. 

Dash scowled. Leopold had paid him more than that when he was only a child, and that was over a decade ago.

“This is the best outfit for you, sir. You will look like a king in it.” the man said, pointing to the most expensive suit in the whole store.

“Oh? And why that one?” Dash demanded.

“It’s our finest suit, and it will look fantastic on you.”

Dash knew the cut and colour of the suit was all wrong for him, and he even saw Emily cringing from where she was standing. He’d seen and heard enough.

“Mr. Henri Duprey?” Dash asked, just wanted to make sure.

The man blinked in surprise. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

Dash drew himself up to his full height, staring down at the shorter man imperiously. “I am Dashiell, your employer.” he replied, his voice dripping in venom.

Henri stared at him, and then scoffed. “You’re barely more than a kid.”

“I am older than I look.” Dash replied, his eyes glinting dangerously. “You. Are. Fired.”

Henri simply stood there.

“Get out of my store, Mr. Duprey.” Dash ordered. “You are **never** to touch anything associated with my name ever again. If you make any sort of attempt at retaliation, I will ruin every facet of your life. You’re **fired**.”

Henri drew himself up indignantly. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m going to call the police!”

Without a word, Dash crossed the room and pointed up at the portrait of Leopold and David that still hung above the door.

“Yes, so?” Henri scoffed. “It’s the original owners.”

Dash reached up and removed the picture from the wall. Flipping it over, he revealed something taped to the back of the portrait. Removing it, he ripped open the envelope and then held out a piece of paper to Henri. Henri took it and then glanced at it in confusion.

“It’s a copy of the deed, so what?”

“Look at page two.” Dash ordered. This was something he had placed there years ago, knowing he couldn’t allow V.I.L.E to see it.

Henri turned the page and then his eyes widened. It was a newspaper clipping from Dashiell’s very first debut in the fashion world. It showed a picture of Dash standing proudly next to his first lineup of outfits. Henri paled.

“This...this doesn’t prove **anything**.” Henri insisted. “You obviously faked this!”

He crumpled up both pieces of paper and tossed them to the floor.

“Destroy it if you want, but newspaper archives are a thing, and I have all the original sketches for the designs. I can easily get in contact with those from the fashion industry who know me, and they will back up my claims. You are a **liar** and **fraud** and you **dared** to blemish my name. You made my new line the laughing stock of the show, and you’re lucky I don’t gut you where you stand!”

Dash was so fierce in tone that Henri actually backed up a step. He was now beginning to realize how big of a mistake he had made.

“I was only trying to help…” Henri said, his tone sounding weak even to his own ears.

“You ruined my designs.” Dash hissed. “You are **fired** , and if you don’t leave this shop, I will be forced to make a few phone calls of my own.”

“Look, don’t call the police.” Henri begged. “I’ll leave quietly. I’m sorry, okay? No police!”

Henri dropped a ring of keys on the counter and walked for the door, looking completely humiliated, and Dash was tempted to follow after him to beat him half to death. Resisting, he glanced over at Emily who was slipping on her coat and puse.

“Not you.” Dash snarled. “You’re staying right here.”

Emily was used to dealing with irate customers and knew that Dash was very close to completely blowing his cool. She slowly took a seat without a word.

Dash knelt down and picked up the newspaper article and then carefully began straightening it out. He then folded it over and placed it into his pocket, intent on finding a new hiding spot for it later.

“You are going to help me get this store back in shape.” Dash told her.

“You mean you’re not firing me?” she asked in surprise.

“Don’t be stupid. You had nothing to do with that poser. You were already running this store by yourself for that idiot, and so I know you’ll be able to help. We are going to immediately change all locks and security systems in the store to make sure he can’t return. Are you able to do this for me?”

“Yes, sir, of course.” she replied.

“I will be freezing all my company accounts and changing who has authorization.”

Dash was struggling to keep hold of his temper, not wanting to lose it at the wrong person. Reaching out, he scribbled his cell number on a pad of paper and pushed it towards her.

“We’re closing the store immediately until the damage has been repaired. You are to message me the moment you’ve completed what I said. We have a lot of work ahead of us to repair what that buffoon did.”

Emily nodded, eager to get started on fixing the store. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t disappoint me, Emily. I have high hopes in you.”

“I always do my best.” she assured him.

“Let’s just hope your best is enough.” Dash said, glaring at the mess of a store. “I need to go calm down. Text or call me when things are taken care of.”

“Yes, sir!” Emily said, immediately reaching for her phone. “I’m calling the locksmith and security company now.”

Dash gave one last glare around the store, and then headed for the door, wanting to punch something. He had almost lost Leopold’s store all because he’d put his trust in the wrong man. He certainly wouldn’t be making **that** mistake again. He had every intention of taking a more active role in his store from now on.

Neal was waiting for him just outside, and when he saw the expression on Dash’s face he offered him a hesitant smile. “Want to go fight him?”

“Yes, but I won’t.” Dash replied. “That would further tarnish Dashiell’s reputation once the press found out about it. I have to let him walk...for now.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I am going to calm down, and then I am going to come up with a plan.”

“Why don’t we grab supper?” Neal suggested. “We missed lunch and I’m starving.”

Dash was actually starving as well, and gave a nod. “Alright. Oh, and Neal?”

“Yes, fancy?”

“Shoplift from my store again, and I’ll break every single finger you have.”

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Dash stared at the menu, seeing that everything on it was greasy and extremely high in calories. There was one salad on the menu and even that was disgustingly unhealthy.

“Why did we come here?” Dash demanded.

Neal shrugged. “Smelled good.”

Dash let out a sigh as their waiter approached, notepad in hand. “Evening, gentlemen, are you ready to order yet?”

Neal glanced at Dash and then nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Can I get the double-cheeseburger, no lettuce, no tomato, no onion?”

The waiter nodded. “And to drink?”

“Whatever’s on tap I guess.”

“Ok, and for you, sir?” the waiter asked, turning to Dash.

Dash was still frowning at the menu. “I’ll take the salad but minus the cheese, bacon, corn chips, egg yolks, pulled pork and dressing.”

The waiter blinked at him. “That...that’ll just leave lettuce and tomato…”

“I’m aware.” Dash answered, closing the menu.

“Sure thing, and to drink?”

“Water, preferably bottled.”

Dash glanced out the window beside them, and his eyes suddenly widened. A woman was digging through a dumpster across the street, and he stared at her, feeling like someone had just kicked him in the gut. The woman was filthy, her blond and stringy hair pulled back into a ponytail and her face drawn and wrinkled prematurely. Her clothes were in tatters, and it looked like she wasn’t wearing any shoes despite the frigid winter air. Dash stared at her, horrible memories rising to the surface of his mind, and when she looked up in his direction he quickly looked away, his heart racing. He sat there a few seconds stiffly, and then slowly his gaze went back to the woman. She was now pulling something metal out of the dumpster, and Dash swallowed heavily.

Almost in a daze, Dash stood up from the table, mumbled something about being right back and then headed for the door. He didn’t even hear Neal’s response, his mind in absolute turmoil. It couldn’t be. He had to be mistaken. Why **here** of all places? Why right **now**? Leaving the restaurant, he crossed the street without looking, ignoring the yells and honks aimed his way as cars were forced to stop for him. Approaching the woman as she tried to fit the scrap-metal into her shopping cart, he stopped walking as she looked up at him. Green eyes stared at him suspiciously, and she stepped protectively in front of her cart.

“It was in the dumpster so it’s free!” she snapped at him. “You’re not getting it!”

Dash said nothing, an aching sadness making him clench his hands into fists.

“What do you want?” she demanded. “Stop looking at me!”

Dash simply stood there, staring at the woman he had hated for almost his entire life. She hadn’t aged well, her lifestyle obviously catching up to her, and he noted how her hands were shaking as she struggled with the scrap-metal. She was terribly thin, her skin looking like it was stretched over bones, and she looked sick. Dash knew he should have felt some sort of vindictive satisfaction at this, but he didn’t. All he felt was a sad hollowness that he couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Go away!” the woman ordered, stepping towards him aggressively. “Stop looking at me like that! You think you’re better than me? You think you’re something **special**?”

Dash remained silent, his gaze never leaving her. The woman gave him a shove in the chest making him fall back a step, but he still said nothing.

“Just because you’re wearing a fancy suit doesn’t mean you’re better than me, asshole!” she snarled. “You’re trash just like me! Everybody is trash! The whole world is trash!”

When she raised her hands to push him again, he caught her by the wrists, her ragged sleeves falling up to her elbows. Dash frowned and reached out, pushing her sleeve up further, revealing the track-marks going up her arm.

“Let me go!” she yelled, jerking away from him violently. “Don’t you judge me! Don’t you **dare** judge me! You don’t know what I’ve been through! You know nothing!”

The woman rubbed at her arms like his touch had hurt her, and she glared at him, rocking slightly on her feet.

“Don’t judge me.” she said again. “My husband is dead, and my son is dead. I deserve some relief, I deserve being able to forget. While you stand there looking all superior, you have **no** idea what my life has been like. No idea at all. If you actually want to do something, why don’t you help someone down on their luck and give me some cash? Just a little so I can...have a hot meal.”

Dash felt like he’d just been blindsided. His father was dead? The man that used to both verbally and physically abuse him was **dead**? He hadn’t even considered the possibility. The man had always felt like a powerful nightmare that haunted his memories, but now he was dead. His father was gone forever, and Dash would never see him again. His father’s fat and angry face came to his mind, and he felt an odd ache in his chest. How long had he been dead? How long had that wretched piece of trash been rotting without him knowing? His father had always been such a source of fear for him as a child, and now years later Dash was once again confronted by these memories. He wanted to feel nothing for either of his abusers, but the ache in his chest wasn’t diminishing.

“Just give me forty dollars, and you’ll really help me out. You can spare it, look at how fancy you are! Help an old woman out.”

“How did he die?” Dash asked, this being the first time he had spoken.

The woman froze at the sound of his voice and slowly she turned to look at him with wide eyes. She stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time, and slowly she raised a hand up to Dash’s cheek, a desperate longing in her eyes. Before her fingers made contact, she stopped and then quickly withdrew her hand. Sucking in a sharp breath, she began backing away from him.

“No.” she whispered. “No, no, no. Not you...not now. No.”

She gave him an absolutely agonized look, and then without another word, she turned and ran off down the nearby alley, leaving her cart behind. Dash didn’t pursue her, simply staring after her in silence, the ache only getting worse. When she was gone from sight, Dash turned and headed back to the restaurant, seeing that Neal was watching from the window, a puzzled look on his face.

Dash entered the restaurant and then took his seat across from Neal without a word, feeling angry and confused. He sat there for a moment in silence, ignoring the look Neal was sending him and then he picked up his glass of water and smashed it down onto the floor as hard as he could. The whole restaurant went silent and everyone turned to stare and Neal quickly smiled at the onlookers.

“Oops, dropped a glass.” Neal said apologetically. “Clumsy hands.”

Dash sat head in hand as their waiter cleaned up the mess, and Neal stared at him, not quite sure what to say.

“Um, something you’d like to talk about?” he asked hesitantly once the waiter was gone.

“ **No**.” Dash snarled, glaring over at him.

“Who was that bag-lady you were speaking with?”

Dash felt another wave of confused sadness wash over him, and he reached out and grabbed Neal’s glass of beer and downed it without a word.

“No one.” he answered. “She was no one.”

“...right.” Neal replied, frowning at his empty glass. 

Their waiter returned with their food and Neal smiled at the sight of his food. “Could I get a refill of beer?” he asked.

“Sure.” the waiter said as he set Dash’s salad down on the table. 

Dash stared at the salad, and then reached out and caught the waiter by the elbow.

“I changed my mind. Bring me the unhealthiest thing on your menu. I don’t care what it is, just bring it to me.”

Neal stared at him in awe, having no idea what to say to that, but the waiter took it in good stride and nodded with a smile.

“Sure thing, it’ll just be a few minutes.”

Once the waiter was gone, Neal turned a questioning gaze to the other man. “Everything alright, fancy?”

“I’m **fine**.” Dash snapped, glaring at the salad.

“Well, any particular reason you’re committing diet suicide?”

“I don’t have to explain my choice of food to you, **Neal** , so why don’t you shut up and mind your own business?!” Dash snarled, his tone way angrier than the situation called for.

Neal gave him an unimpressed look, but decided to leave it for now and instead reached for his burger. Dash sat there in a silent fury for a few minutes, and then reached out and took one of Neal’s fries. Neal didn’t comment, but couldn’t help but feel a little worried. Dash hardly ever ate anything unhealthy, and here he was willingly eating garbage food. Something was definitely wrong, and Neal was going to find out what it was.

The waiter set down new drinks for them both, and Neal subtly slid his beer far out Dash’s reach. Only a few moments later, the waiter was back and set a plate in front of Dash.

“Enjoy.” he said, disappearing to tend to his next table.

Dash stared down his plate, mentally calculating the calories of the meal, knowing it was probably a week’s worth of calories all in one meal. On his plate was a massive chili-cheese dog with sour cream, bacon, jalapenos, crushed corn chips and what looked like onion rings covered in sauce and cheese.

Neal stopped eating his burger to simply stare in awe at this monstrosity, watching in disbelief as Dash picked it up and took a bite. 

“You okay, Dash?” Neal asked again.

Dash didn’t bother answering him, instead concentrating on his heart-attack of a meal. He hadn’t eaten a hotdog since he was thirteen, and refused to admit that he actually liked them. Nothing was more low class than a hotdog however, and Dash doubted he’d ever touch one again after today. He made himself concentrate only on eating, trying to push all other thoughts out of his mind. He was normally a very small eater, but Dash was in a bit of a daze as he stared down at his plate, and within minutes he had finished the entire chili dog. Neal was still watching him with a frown, but he didn’t say anything, knowing Dash probably wouldn’t answer him anyway.

Dash stared down at his plate, the raw and empty feeling within him not lessening. He glanced out the window and saw the shopping cart was still sitting there untouched. His father was dead and his mother was a heroin addict.

Neal followed his gaze with a frown, and then to his surprise, Dash suddenly stood up. He tossed a couple twenties on the table and then headed for the door without a single word. Neal was surprised that Dash had paid for his meal as well, and added a bit of cash for a tip, and then hurriedly followed after the other man.

Dash needed to know for sure. He needed to see it for himself. He found himself walking in a familiar direction, and although Neal was speaking to him, he didn’t hear the words. The longer they walked, the poorer the neighbourhood became, and soon they were passing by boarded up houses and trash-filled yards. Dash was suddenly stopped when Neal grabbed him firmly by the shoulder.

“Where are we going?” he asked, glancing around. “I don’t think this is the best neighbourhood for someone who looks like you to be in…”

Dash jerked away from him and kept walking, his eyes taking in the familiar streets and the familiar buildings with an odd sense of bitterness. He passed by a group of men who were sitting on the hood of their car drinking, and he paused when one of them yelled out to him. Turning around, he saw they were approaching him, and Neal tensed beside him, clearly expecting a fight.

“Lost?” one of the men demanded, shooting a grin at his friends.

Dash stared at the man and realized he knew him. “Jimmy.” he stated.

Jimmy’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Do I know you?” he demanded, looking Dash up and down with a wrinkled nose.

“A long time ago.” Dash responded, turning away. “A lifetime ago.”

Jimmy was so confused that he simply watched Dash walk off without trying to stop him. Neal jogged to catch back up to him, shooting a glance back at the men in disbelief.

Dash felt his chest tighten uncomfortably when he reached his old street, and he slowed his pace, simply looking at everything around him with a frown. Everything was much more run-down than he remembered, and the closer he got to his house, the more on edge he felt. Everything that happened that day had seemed like it was trying to lead him back here, lead him back to facing his past and Dash wished he could get it out of his mind.

Dash had spent years trying to bury his past and get over it, and he thought he’d succeeded, but now he knew that wasn’t true. He’d never gotten over anything, he’d simply allowed it to fester. He was no longer a confused and frightened little boy, and he would face his past head on. He needed to see it for himself. He needed closure.

His house was falling apart and the windows were boarded up. As he crossed the lawn towards the front door, Neal followed along behind him growing even more confused. 

Dash opened the door and walked in, an immediate wave of fear stabbing through him as he did so. He felt unsafe in this house, and he shivered as the worst of his memories came to mind. This house was filled with pain, fear and anger, and he hated it. Pushing the fear aside, he stared at the graffitied walls, memory after memory flashing through his mind. There were addicts in every part of the house laying on ratty and stained mattresses, but Dash ignored them, his eyes simply taking in each and every room in detail.

Neal was hovering by his side so closely that their shoulders were touching, and it was obvious Neal was getting really weirded out.

“What are we doing here?” Neal demanded. “Dash, you’re really starting to worry me. Why are we here?”

Dash ignored him and began walking up the stairs towards his old bedroom. Opening the door, he saw two men laying on a mattress with needles hanging out of their arms, and he glared at them. The men stared at him in sleepy confusion and Dash ignored them as he stepped inside, staring at the empty room feeling another stab of sadness. It was like he was never here, like nothing had ever happened. All the pain, all the misery, all the times he’d cried himself to sleep, and there was nothing to show for it. Just an empty house that was falling apart. 

A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he glanced towards the broken closet door. Crossing the room, he opened the closet door and stared inside, his gaze settling on the paneling near the floor. Kneeling down, he reached out and placed his hand over a dark brown mark on the wall. Neal knelt down beside him and squinted at the mark.

“Is that a child’s handprint?” he questioned. “Wait...is that **blood**?!”

Dash said nothing, simply rubbing his fingers across the handprint, remembering vividly the beating that preceded it. He wasn’t sure how old he’d been, but he remembered being terrified and had dragged himself into the closet hoping he’d be safe in there. It hadn’t worked. 

Dash closed his eyes and took a deep breath. One little bloody handprint was all that remained. There was nothing here for him in this house, there never was. This house was just a skeleton from his past, and Dash never wanted to see it again.

Straightening up, he turned and left the room without a single word. He went down the stairs and straight out the door, Neal at his heels. Approaching the back deck, Dash knelt down and reached underneath, hoping what he was looking for was still there. Sure enough it still was, and to Neal’s shock, Dash pulled out two large jerry cans of gasoline.

“Dash?” Neal questioned in alarm.

Dash then started walking back towards the front door, still not saying a word. As soon as he entered, he began splashing gasoline on every surface and when the addicts saw what he was doing, they gaped for a moment, and then immediately fled out of the house.

“Dash!” Neal repeated, watching him in distress. 

Dash then went upstairs and began splashing gasoline in each of the bedrooms. When he ran out of gasoline, he dropped the empty containers to the ground and then headed back downstairs. Dash waited until Neal was out of the way, and then picked up one of the addict’s lighters off the floor and struck it. Lighting a piece of garbage on fire, Dash tossed it into the house and then stood there making sure that the gasoline caught fire. When the fire began spreading quickly, he turned and walked away, ignoring whatever Neal was saying to him. He didn’t go far however, and Dash took a seat on the curb across the street to watch.

Neal sat down beside him and they sat there in silence as the house went up in flames. It took the firefighters twenty minutes to arrive and by that time it was too late, and so the only thing they could do was control the fire as the house burned. Dash sat where he was the whole time, never taking his eyes off the inferno in front of him.

Dash sat there for over an hour, and when there was nothing left of the house besides a pile of ash and blackened wood, he finally stood to leave. The house of his nightmares was finally gone, and he’d never be able to step foot there ever again.

“Er...feel better now?” Neal asked him. 

Dash considered his answer. “Yes.” he replied. “I feel a lot better now.”

As they walked away from the scene of the crime, Neal gave him a wary look. “You gonna explain any of this, fancy, or should I just assume you went crazy?”

Dash heaved a sigh and then offered him a smile. “I’ll explain on the walk back.” he promised. “Right now, I have a meeting with Patty Larceny. I need to apologize to her, and then the whole list of clients for what they’ve been put through. It’s going to be a lot of work fixing what that buffoon of a manager did to my store and reputation.”

Neal grinned at him, glad that Dash finally seemed to have snapped out of his funk. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll help you. I may not know much about fashion, but I can help move things around for you.”

Dash gave him a nod. “I’ll have to contact Crackle to let him know we’ll need to stay a few extra days.”

Neal tossed an arm around his shoulders. “Okay, Rapidash, if you’re done burning down poor neighbourhoods, let’s get out of here.”

Dash rolled his eyes and shrugged Neal’s arm away from him. “Yes, I’m ready to leave this neighbourhood forever.”

Dash knew he couldn’t let his past define who he was any longer, and he knew there was nothing here for him but painful memories. The bruises of his past made him who he was, and he was stronger for it. Dash had made something of himself, and as painful as the memories were, he wasn’t going to shy away from them. That house, his parents, Leopold and David were all a part of his story, and Dash refused to forget it. He would use these memories to keep pushing forward, knowing that he had nothing to be ashamed of. He wasn’t to blame for his past, and so he would make damn sure his future was better.

“Come on, let’s go, slimeball.”

Neal rolled his eyes in amusement. “Always so charming, Dash.”

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**New Year’s Day**

**12:01 am**

Neal and Dash stood at the window of the hotel room watching as the fireworks burst right in front of them, their window at the perfect height to watch. He had told Neal **everything** , this being the first time he had ever talked about his past, and Neal had been surprisingly solemn during his story. Neal promised he’d never make fun of his past, and swore he’d help in any way he could. To his surprise Neal had actually apologized for teasing him the way he had that day, not realizing what he was going through.

Dash had no idea where his mother had disappeared to, but he had the feeling he’d be seeing her again. Upon returning to the store, he had found a piece of paper shoved through the mailslot. When he unfolded it there were just three words written on it.

‘ **I’m sorry, Justin** ’

Dash doubted he’d ever be able to forgive her, but perhaps someday, he’d be willing to have a conversation with her. That day would not be anytime soon though.

Emily had taken care of everything he’d tasked her with that day, and Dash knew he was going to take a more active role in managing his business. He decided he was going to hire her as his personal assistant to act as his go-between in the fashion world, and he was going to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. He was going to very carefully select his new staff for the store, and he would personally interview them, leaving nothing to chance.

The apologies had gone rather well, all things considered, and most of his clients had appreciated the personal phone call. He assured them that once the store re-opened, things would return to the quality they expected.

Patty Larceny had raked him over the coals for ever allowing such a thing to happen in the first place, but she admitted that she was impressed with what he’d done to start correcting it. She swore she would remain his client as long as he made sure his business met her standards. She informed him she’d be letting him know if there was **ever** any slip in quality. Dash didn’t doubt her words in the least.

Dash smiled out the window as he sipped a cup of tea, this finally feeling like everything was in order. Neal gave him a smirk and then elbowed him lightly in the side.

“Happy New Year, fancy!”

“Happy New Year, Neal.”

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Happy New Year's Everyone!**

**Please don't forget to leave a comment! :D**


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